The Light of Mu'atin
by Nirah
Summary: After the events of Breaking Destiny, the Doctor and Harry take Ganbri on what was meant to be a fun adventure. When it becomes apparent that they have arrived on the wrong day, the group find themselves caught in the middle of a revolutionary uprising. Worst of all, their actions during the war could either save or disrupt their own timelines, with potentially disastrous results.
1. Chapter 1

Vikked 8. It was a planet of massive cities of marble, with statues and art to compete with Rome's greatest. Its theatre was legendary. Its music was said to bring tears to the eyes of the coldest of men. And its people were said to be the most joyous in the galaxy.

They had promised Ganbri a trip to anywhere he wanted as a reward for his good performance in school. His grades were excellent, his behaviour commendable, and, most importantly, he hadn't done anything to raise suspicion. He was only eight years old, but he had a good grasp on the concepts of what was typically human and what was not. He hadn't shown up his teachers too much, nor spoken of alien worlds or civilizations, nor accidentally let some time energy escape him in the sight of others.

Pretending to live normal, human lives was difficult but they understood how much harder it was for a child. Ganbri tried his best and they always made sure to reward his hard work.

Annabelle was unwell that week so they decided to go without the Temple-Noble family this time. Ganbri was a little disheartened as Annie was the only friend he had that was privy to their secret lives, but it couldn't be helped. Jack had agreed to come instead, which seemed to cheer Ganbri up a good deal. Uncle Jack was a superhero in that child's eyes.

It felt strange to the Doctor to imagine that this was his life now. His son's behaviour at school and his husband's frustrations with work were his primary concerns these days. He fretted over things like keeping appointments and whether or not the roof on the house needed replacing. He still couldn't believe that he even lived in a house.

He'd never wanted a house. It took Harry several months of nagging before he very reluctantly agreed to move into a house and, even then, it was only because it would become increasingly difficult to live on Earth without a real address. His beloved TARDIS was usually parked in the backyard or the garage and he still spent the majority of his hours there, but he slept in a proper house with proper windows and a proper yard and drove a proper car. Ugh, cars. How much he hated cars now, with their red lights and traffic and persistent need to always have something broken.

Various negotiations with the government had them set up properly with real paperwork to 'prove' their identities and ownerships. Harry got a job within their first year on Earth at the Institute of Biomedical Engineering in London, where he was able to work his magic for the human race. He proved his value quickly enough and soon became one of the most sought-after names in the field. The less appealing side was that he was also required to teach, which he regularly complained about, though he didn't seem to mind the way students practically worshipped him. Harry didn't like to admit it, but he thoroughly enjoyed bathing in admiration and fame. Instead of a madman, he was a scientist and teacher once more, just like he had been in their early days at home. And he was comfortable that way.

The Doctor was less keen on the idea of working a nine-to-five sort of job. He didn't want to be committed to a day's work if he decided that something else was more worth his time and he certainly didn't like the idea of having boards to answer to or being forced to attend charity events pumped full of priss and politics the way Harry had to. Instead he behaved more as a freelancer. He helped the government with any situations that seemed alien in origin and even with some that didn't. He grew fond of the people in his Earthly neighbourhood and took up a bit of medical work again. He regularly did house calls for the elderly people in the area, giving them quick and not exactly 'local' solutions to their health problems. He'd learned to love them all and thoroughly enjoyed the idle day-to-day chatter of Chiswick's oldest residents—even the ones who weren't quite up to date on whether or not it was politically correct to refer to him and Harry as 'that queer couple'.

They even had friends—proper human friends with whom they would take turns inviting each other over for dinner. They had to lie a lot about their past but that didn't make them any less of friends. Harry worked with a man named Mark who was absolutely lovely, though the Doctor wasn't particularly fond of his wife, whom he was convinced flirted with Harry far too much. Then there was Amanda down the street that watched Ganbri for them sometimes and loved chatting with Harry about gardening. There was Tom and his wife, Hilda, who both worked with MI5 and had assisted the Doctor with several jobs. They usually invited the Doctor and his family over on game days, even though they weren't really interested in football, and they always had a good time. Ganbri was especially fond of Hilda and often asked the Doctor how she was doing when he returned from a case.

Nine years ago he was alone and heartbroken with no friends left and an insane, injured man in his care. In a very short amount of time, all of that had changed very dramatically. It was good. He loved his life. It was just still a bit hard to believe that all of it had really happened.

"Permission to come aboard?"

The voice of his husband snapped him from his train of thought. Harry and Ganbri were standing in the open doorway of the TARDIS, with Ganbri practically vibrating on the spot from his barely contained excitement. Harry had been trying to teach him the importance of proper etiquette for space travel. They'd been travelling a lot lately, in their unsuccessful search for Jenny, and one of Harry's worst fears was that Ganbri might gravely offend someone and get hurt. The result of that fear meant that every time they wanted to go anywhere, Harry would make Ganbri wait for permission before he entered the TARDIS.

"Granted," he answered, turning his attention back to the ship's console.

Ganbri flew inside without hesitation and Harry quickly made a reprimanding 'ah, ah, ah' sound. "What do you say?"

"Thank you, Banni," Ganbri answered impatiently.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Harry replied, crossing his arms.

Ganbri stopped to turn towards the Doctor, standing straight and trying to look solemn despite the small, annoyed sigh that escaped his mouth. "Thank you, _sir_."

"That's better."

The Doctor gave his son a quick nod of approval though he, personally, thought the whole thing was a bit excessive. He rarely bothered with such propriety and he certainly never bothered to teach any of his companions such nonsense but Harry seemed to think it was important. The Doctor only played along because apparently the ring on his finger meant he had to, but Jack seemed to think it was brilliant and participated merrily.

The immortal man appeared in the doorway, standing tall and rigid in military fashion. "Captain Jack Harkness, requesting permission to board."

"Granted."

Jack stepped through the doorway, still standing rigidly as he raised his hand to his forehead in salute. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, don't do that," the Doctor answered irritably.

Ganbri immediately leapt into that perfectly straight position that the Doctor hated so much and saluted Jack. "Captain," he said with a certain tone of pride.

"Oh, come on! Don't _you_ start!" the Doctor protested quickly. "Who taught you to do that?"

"It's fine," Harry answered him quickly, placing a hand on the Doctor's arm and immediately sharing a soothing feeling. "He's just learning to be proper."

"Well, that's not what it looks like to me," he grumbled in return. He'd never been comfortable with military formalities and he certainly didn't like the way he saw Ganbri mimicking the rigid stance and salute occasionally when he played. He wanted to raise a scientist or a doctor or a teacher, not a soldier.

He gave his shoulders a little shake, trying to roll the annoyance off him as he set the ship to travel to Vikked 8. "Shut the door, Jack," he called out and, after Harry shot him a look, added very clearly: "Please."

Jack cocked his head to the side and pointed over his shoulder. "Donna's still coming."

"No, she's—"

"Permission to board, sir!" Donna's voice cried enthusiastically.

"Oh, for pity's sake! Because if I said no, it would stop you?" the Doctor groaned. "What are you even doing here? I thought you weren't coming?"

Donna simply looked at him with a stubborn little smile on her face.

"Alright, granted," he snapped, then turned and pointed a stern finger at Harry. "And if you tell one more person to say that, I'm not giving anyone permission and I'll go travelling by myself. I'll leave every last one of you behind!"

Harry smirked and said nothing, sliding his lower lip between his teeth. It was a direct challenge, the sort of look that said _I'd like to see you try_. The Doctor scrunched his face up at him in return.

"Shaun's offered to watch Annie," Donna explained casually as she strolled up to the console. "She's asked me to take pictures and pay attention so that I can tell her the story _properly_. Apparently, she's not satisfied with seeing a twinkle in your eye and being told that she just has to see it."

That was good really. Of course, he was always happy to see Donna, but he was doubly so whenever they were taking a trip with Jack. He was certain that he could already see Harry's fingers twitching, eagerly awaiting the first moment that Jack let his guard down so that he could get in a punch or a slap or some other form of physical abuse. The two of them turned into absolute children whenever they got together but they always behaved themselves a bit better with Donna around. Probably because she wasn't afraid to verbally tear holes in them.

"So where we going?"

"Vikked 8," the Doctor answered, looking over at her and grinning widely. "They call it the Cradle of Peace. The planet is the natural home to two separate species of high intelligence and once, a very long time ago, one species ruled as masters over the other. The Gurani kept the Bahgites as slaves, keeping them like property to be sold and put to work and killed however their owners saw fit until the Bahgites finally rose up in defiance. The war was terrible and bitter, but it was the last war that world has ever known. Now the two species rule the planet in peace as true equals and it is said that the people there are the happiest to be found in the stars."

A smirk appeared on Jack's face while a scowl suddenly appeared on Harry's. The Doctor could only imagine what wildly inappropriate thought had gone through Jack's head and spilled out to be picked up by Harry's overly sensitive mind. Jack didn't seem the slightest bit surprised when Harry's hand shot out and gave him a quick slap to the back of his head.

"Every year they hold the Freedom Festival," the Doctor continued. "To celebrate the day that marked the beginning of their new and better world. The Gurani decorate their wings with powder light and dance until all the sky is shimmering and the Bahgites put shells in their hair so that they jingle when they sing. The air smells like setchie fruit and sweet wine and roasted Alhr and no amount of singing is loud enough to cover the sounds of laughter. People of all species crowd together in the streets and embrace people they've never even met before. Everyone is a friend. Everyone is family."

"It sounds nice," Donna said quietly with a smile.

"It is," Harry confirmed. The Doctor saw the way the corner of his mouth tugged up slightly and a warm tendril of thought caressed his mind.

The two of them had left Ganbri with Donna and gone there together seven years ago, letting the joyful frenzy of the festival wash away some of the pain left over from the Nightmare's War. It worked. For one beautiful weekend their scars were just scars and any memories of Kahlia that Harry thought of were of his happy and ambitious little girl, rather than of the monster she had become.

"Dad?" Ganbri's voice said quietly as the Doctor felt a hand tug at the corner of his jacket. "Can we go?"

He laughed a little and reached for a lever on the console. Ganbri was not yet old enough to appreciate the build-up of anticipation. Everyone held tight while the TARDIS wailed and shuddered. They landed with a slightly heavier thud than the Doctor had planned, earning him a slightly annoyed look from Harry. He'd been told off more than once for flying clumsily with Ganbri on board.

"I hope you all brought your dancing shoes," the Doctor said happily. He winked at Harry just to make him smile and reached his hand out for Ganbri to take hold of. Jack offered his arm courteously and Donna accepted it with a mock curtsey.

When the doors opened, there was no sound of singing or jingling shells. He didn't smell the setchie fruit or the roasted Alhr. There were no crowds in the streets or coloured banners and, while the sky had its usual tint of purple, there were no clouds of shimmering powder.

"You got the wrong day," Harry said with certainty.

"I did not!" the Doctor protested, leaning out the doors to get a better look at the pale stone buildings. "We must just be a bit early or something. Come on."

He stepped through the doors and everyone except Harry eagerly followed him. He glanced back to see his husband with arms crossed, looking out uneasily. Any other time, Harry would have been out there without hesitation but he was always wary whenever they took Ganbri with them.

He supposed that Harry having personally witnessed the deaths of all three of his previous children would do that.

"It's fine, Tokrah," Ganbri said happily, holding out his hand in invitation. "I won't let go. I won't wander off."

Harry sighed and his eyebrows moved together a little but he gave in. He stepped onto the street with them and pulled the TARDIS door shut behind him, then took Ganbri's hand in his own. Jack chatted merrily as they walked down the silent and empty streets. He'd been thinking about trying to restart the Torchwood organization again and asked if the Time Lords would help him find new ways to keep his team safe. Harry agreed without a second thought but the Doctor was less sure if a new Torchwood was a good idea.

Ganbri tried to get them to swing him by his arms as he walked between them. He was rather big for it now but they tried anyway. With some difficulty they got a good couple of swings in and, thankfully, the boy was satisfied.

"That looks like an official type of building," Donna said suddenly, pointing out a building that was much larger than the others and had plenty of decorative carvings in the stone. "Would that be a good place to ask about the festival?"

"Probably."

He was starting to feel a bit uneasy as well when they approached the building. They still had yet to see a single living soul. He hadn't seen any signs of a festival either. Jack was walking a bit stiffly now too, watching things carefully but not failing to keep a smile on his face. Harry, however, tended to walk with a more relaxed looking form when he felt threatened—easier to begin a run or jump or twist that way. They were trying not to look it, but they were on high alert already.

Great white marble doors opened of their own accord as they approached, earning a delighted "Ohh, that's fancy" from Donna. They walked into the cavernous foyer, thousands of trees carved into the white stone all around them while the crystal ceiling filled the rooms with sunlight and rainbows.

"I am so sorry, sir," a high pitched voice said in distress as a Bahgite scurried up to them. "We did not expect you until this evening."

The Bahgite's skin was a deep purple rippled with hints of orange. Her head was indistinguishable from her neck, looking more like a long tube poking out of the neck of her dress with two pairs of glassy blue eyes at the top. She had no mouth or nose but rather a series of holes varying in size, beginning just under her eyes and travelling all the way down until they vanished beneath her clothes. Her long, thin fingers trembled and twitched with a series of complicated gestures as she spoke and her silvery white hair swayed back and forth as she moved her head, the holes in her neck opening and closing according to the movement, producing sound and thus speech. If she had put shells her hair, they would make a merry jingling.

Ganbri stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

"I am Quqarid, Mr. Feishe's steward. Please, follow me to the lounge and make yourselves comfortable," she said quickly, hair swaying vigorously as she ushered them through one of the foyer's many doorways. "I am afraid there may be a wait before Mr. Feishe will be able to see you as he is currently in a meeting. Please, let me know if there is anything I can do to make the wait more enjoyable."

"Do you have any Alhr?" the Doctor blurted without a thought as they settled themselves in seats. "You know, the roasted kind with that fruity sauce on it?"

Quqarid gestured vigorously with her hands. "Certainly, sir. Would you prefer it aged or young?"

He'd never been asked that before. "Aged, I suppose. I don't think I've ever had it aged before."

She gestured again, more dramatically than before. "May your family's prospers continue," she said and then hurried from the room again.

The walls in this room were carved too—buildings of some great city with the sun gleaming above them. The decoration was fairly minimalistic other than that. Their seats were simple benches with soft, black cushioning and no backs.

"Why does she keep doing that thing?" Ganbri asked quietly, moving his hands around to show what he meant.

"She doesn't have the same kind of face that we do," Harry explained. His voice sounded bored, but his eyes were carefully scanning everything in the room. "She moves her hands like that to show us expressions that we would normally show with our faces. Mostly what she was doing was showing us how she smiles."

"Like this?" Ganbri moved his arms in an imitation of Quqarid's movements.

"You can just smile," the Doctor answered. "You have the right face for it."

"Why are we still here?" Harry asked suddenly, leaning in close so that he could speak quietly. "We're obviously not here at the right time and she clearly thinks we're someone else."

All the Doctor could do was shrug as though it should have been obvious. "Don't you want to meet Mr. Feishe?"

"No, I don't," Harry hissed back. "You can come back and meet Mr. Feishe another day."

He heard the unsaid part of that sentence echoing from Harry's mind: another day, when Ganbri wasn't with them. They had both been very careful with Ganbri when it came to travelling, more than a little paranoid that something could happen to him. Oh, how they feared for that boy. Perhaps too much. The Doctor had decided that it might be best to relax a little now that Ganbri was getting older but Harry hadn't quite gotten there yet.

Quqarid returned a minute later to provide them with iced water and a small platter of pink berries while the Alhr was being prepared and hurried away again. They spent another twenty minutes chatting amongst themselves and investigating the ornate wall carvings before she returned again with a crystal platter of freshly roasted Alhr, red and steaming and drizzling with an orange fruit sauce.

The Doctor thanked her kindly and picked up a piece. "Try some," he said enthusiastically. "It's really good."

Harry took a piece before he had even finished the sentence and popped it in his mouth, the signs of his sullen mood erased for a moment. They had gorged themselves on Alhr and sweet wine on their last trip and just the smell of it brought back the happy memories. Quqarid stood near the door, gesturing smiles at them as she waited to see if they were satisfied.

He noted the difference in the taste—a curious kind of rough texture and a juicier flavour than he was familiar with. He supposed it must have been because it was aged. But there was something about it he couldn't quite put his finger on . . .

Donna and Jack were already chewing happily by the time Ganbri reached for a piece, but Harry's hand flew out and grabbed his wrist before he could put it in his mouth. The Doctor looked over at him, saw the expression on his face, and realized what was so different about the flavour.

"What is this made of?" Harry asked quickly.

Quqarid stopped gesturing smiles and gestured confusion instead. "Alhr, of course. Just as you requested."

"It's just called Alhr," Harry answered, frowning at her. "It's supposed to be made primarily from kiracga beans. This is not kiracga."

"Oh!" she cried out as though she had come to a realization and gestured another smile at them. "You must have had it in the fashion of the Free Cities, where they use kiracga beans as a substitute. Here it is still prepared in the tradition way, with true Alhr."

"What's that mean?" Donna asked with sudden concern in her voice. "What have I just put in my mouth?"

"We keep our own in the kitchens so that it can be prepared fresh," Quqarid explained, blinking at them and gesturing confused curiosity. "This Alhr has been prepared especially for you."

"It's an animal?" Jack asked, chewing his piece slowly and thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"So you asked for roasted Alhr and she went downstairs and slaughtered an animal for you," Jack said with an amused tone to his voice as he turned to look at the Doctor. "Nice."

"It's supposed to be made from beans," the Doctor answered with a frown.

"Only in the Free Cities," Quqarid replied politely.

He sensed feelings of concern ebbing from Harry. His brown eyes were staring at the platter thoughtfully and his fingers were curling into fists. He had a suspicion or else he knew something that the Doctor didn't, and he wasn't sharing. The Doctor silently asked to be let in on his thoughts, but Harry put a wall up around his own mind and shooed him away.

"Can I see them?" Harry asked suddenly, looking up at Quqarid and smiling warmly at her. "I would like to see the Alhr that you raise here."

She gestured an expression of mild nervousness. "I'm afraid it will not be very clean at the moment. The cooks will not have had a chance to finish their work yet and the Alhr will still be feeding."

"Feeding?" Donna asked, cluing in to what she meant.

"Yes," Quqarid nodded. "There are pieces that are unfit for use and the cooks often give those scraps to the other Alhr to eat. It is messy work."

Donna and Jack exchanged worried glances but Harry continued to smile. "I can handle a little mess. I would still like very much to see them."

"If it pleases you," Quqarid answered, giving a polite bow.

"It would. Thank you," Harry stood and shot the Doctor a look that told him he was meant to follow. Donna stood up even quicker than he did and the look on her face stated clearly that there was no convincing her to stay behind. Harry didn't say anything about it. He just turned to look at Ganbri.

"You stay with your uncle," he instructed firmly. "You hold his hand. You do _not_ wander off. Under no circumstances are you to leave his sight. Do you understand?"

Ganbri nodded his head vigorously but then asked anyway: "Can't I come?"

"No. Be a good boy and stay here for now. We'll be back in a minute."

"Yes, sir," Ganbri answered with a slightly disappointed tone and sat back down next to Jack.

They followed Quqarid down more carved marble hallways, beneath ceilings of white, blue, and red crystals. The dazzling lights passed over Harry's face like shadow.

_What is it? _the Doctor asked him telepathically, his hand reaching out in search of his husband's fingers.

Harry took his hand, entwined their fingers, and then said in a quiet and grim voice. "You fucked up."

Harry seemed to know what was going on and clearly didn't like it, yet he wasn't insisting they leave. He was afraid there was danger and yet he wasn't dashing to get Ganbri back into the TARDIS. The Doctor suddenly remembered a dark day, eight years past, when he saw Harry covered head to toe in blood.

He would have gotten a taste. He would recognize the taste.

The Doctor suddenly felt sick to his stomach, realizing now what they might be facing. And, oh, if there were any true god out there, he prayed to it now that they were wrong.

They descended a flight of stairs to the kitchens, hot and fragrant from the recent cooking. The smell of roasted Alhr suddenly wasn't so appealing. His stomach churned once more.

Quqarid apologized for the mess while a Bahgite cook scurried forward, apologizing profusely and gesturing embarrassment with his hands. The black countertops where the cook had been working were wet with blood, chunks of meat had been cut and piled neatly off to the side from the remains of the carcass left sitting there. There was not much left of it, but the Doctor recognized a ribcage and a pair of legs easily enough.

There was a bin next to the counter top that he made the mistake of looking inside. There was some poor creature's digestive system and a large pile of bloodied flesh with clear signs of fur peeking out here and there.

"The live ones are this way," the cook explained quickly, leading them past the gruesome sight and around another corner. "You requested the aged, yes? I chose a good female, healthy, strong, twenty-one years! I have ones that are more aged if the Alhr displeased you, sir, or many young if you prefer."

He couldn't think of what to say now. Harry didn't say anything either, and Donna bore a look of distraught helplessness. Quqarid was gesturing for worry and nervousness, just like the cook. They were afraid that they had displeased their guests somehow.

When they turned the corner, the Doctor felt his stomach drop. It was exactly what he had hoped it wouldn't be.

"Have a good look at them, sir. You pick which one pleases you and I will prepare it. Any you wish!"

Before them was a wall of bars that sealed off a separate room, much like a prison cell or perhaps a cage in a zoo. There were about a dozen of them in there, but the cell was large enough to easily house thirty. There were children and adults alike—aged and young.

Many bright eyes turned to look at them fearfully, faces and hands covered in blood and the leftover scraps of their latest dead. They had fists full of the discarded meat, clutching it fiercely, too hungry to care that half an hour ago that meat had been sitting amongst them. Blood dripped from large curved fangs and he remembered the last time he had seen such a thing.

He remembered fighting the Nightmare's War with someone who had known him for years and yet he hadn't met them yet. He remembered being disturbed and even a little frightened by the strange little Alreesh man. The blood frenzy he had seen overcome Jack Nista suddenly made far more sense to him—the way he embraced the fight, the kill. The way he fed off his victims. This was the world Nista had come from.

There was no mention of the Alreesh in the stories. All he knew of Vikked 8's final war was between the Gurani and the Bahgites, but the Alreesh had nothing to do with any of it. Though, now that he thought about it, he had no idea where the Alreesh people actually came from. They were like gypsies, small groups of them to be occasionally found in every corner of the universe and they constantly moved. They didn't seem to have any true home.

The Alreesh looked at them now with terrified eyes, fearing that another would be taken for cooking. A few bore their teeth and snarled while some backed away, whining and whimpering.

"I am so sorry that the meat displeased you," the cook continued, gesturing great distress as he looked at their faces. "In truth, I chose the female partially for her strength. Ever since the hostilities with the north began, the Alhr have seemed affected somehow. They have become more aggressive. The female was strong and healthy, yes, but wilful. She would encourage the others to misbehave and I thought it would be best to dispose of her. But with such a healthy Alhr, I thought the meat would satisfy."

Donna stammered a little. "But they're not—"

"Pigs," the Doctor interrupted her. "Cows. Chickens. Think of what some people do to dolphins and whales."

They may have known the Alreesh to be people but every culture is savage if looked at through the right eyes. Without the TARDIS translating them, the Bahgites would sound like they were whistling instead of speaking, and the Gurani spoke in combinations of whistles and clicks. The Alreesh would sound like nothing more than snarling animals to them, with no discernible language. It was highly likely that they didn't recognize them as anything more intelligent than average livestock.

Harry blinked and swallowed, his hands curled into firm fists. "How much have the hostilities escalated?" he asked in an oddly hollow voice.

"Severely," Quqarid answered immediately. "The northern Bahgites shame us in their rebellion. They do not know their place. It is said that we are already at war. Mr. Feishe is trying desperately to put an end to it that trade might continue with your people. I am sure he is very eager to discuss it with you."

"Yes," the Doctor said to her quietly. "We're very eager to discuss it with him too."

"Mr. Feishe should be available at any moment," she answered, once again gesturing a smile as the Alreesh went back to feeding. "Please, come."

As they made their way back through the kitchens and up the stairs to the beautifully carved halls and crystal ceilings, the Doctor made himself come to terms with what was happening. This couldn't be a coincidence. Jack Nista had to be here somewhere and they were meant to find him and get him out alive.

If Nista died during the 'hostilities', he would not be there in twenty years' time on the Nightmare's ship. Ganbri could die. They could all die.

"He didn't bring us to the Freedom Festival," Harry explained quietly, turning his eyes towards a confused and distraught Donna. "He brought us to Freedom _Day_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Is everything alright?" Quqarid asked, gesturing to them that she was worried. Harry had practically kicked open the doors to the room where the others were waiting, Donna looked horrified, and the Doctor's eyes had darkened with shadows.

Jack looked to them both eagerly, looking for a sign or signal of some sort. They would look to him if action needed to be taken and so he prepared himself to move.

"My friends are gravely offended with the Alhr you have provided," Harry practically snarled at her. "They have no interest in speaking with Mr. Feishe if this is how he treats his guests."

"I am terribly sorry to have caused offense," the Bahgite responded, frantically waving her hands. "Please, allow me to provide—"

The ground rumbled and the air split with the most deafening sound Jack had ever heard. The building must have been very close by, but now it was likely scattered around for a mile. Jack could clearly hear heavy chunks of stone and marble hit the roof of the building and littering the streets outside.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Donna shrieked, clutching Ganbri firmly against her.

"The war is come," Quqarid answered quietly, her glassy eyes turning towards the ceiling.

"Perfect!" Harry said in a loud and oddly enthusiastic voice. "Course it has. Marvellous. Quqarid, I'm going to need to speak to Mr. Feishe now."

"Mr. Feishe is unavailable."

There was something different about Quqarid all of a sudden. Her hands had ceased all movement. She was not frightened and she was not tripping over herself to keep them happy either. Even as she spoke now, it was an oddly calm voice with a poorly veiled layer of glee.

She was not the least bit surprised to hear the explosion.

Harry must have noticed too because he suddenly grabbed her arm and twisted it in his grip, making her gasp. "I'd like you to take me to him anyway."

Quqarid wrenched her arm free and tried her best to stand up straight, then gestured a smile. "Of course, sir. Right this way."

Harry glanced at the Doctor and the two passed a look of understanding between them. Jack stood by and waited to see what was needed of him.

The moment Harry and Quqarid were out of the room, the Doctor pulled his screwdriver from his pocket and tossed it into Jack's hands. "I need to find out who exactly is coming and why. I need you two downstairs. Ganbri, you are to stay with Jack _no matter what_. You do _not_ leave his side. Do you understand?"

"Banni, why can't I stay with you?" Ganbri protested.

"I don't believe I said anything about this being open for discussion. _Go_ with Jack and _stay_ with Jack!"

"Yes, sir."

Jack grabbed Ganbri's hand and fled the room with him, Donna leading the way. It made perfect sense to take the boy with him the moment buildings started blowing up—he was a meat shield that never broke. Having an unkillable bodyguard definitely gave you an advantage.

As they hurried along the marble hallways and descended the stairs into the basement's kitchens, Jack thought he knew what to expect. Neither of the Time Lords had said anything, but he'd learned to read them well enough over the years. There was a path they had already walked down and yet it was still waiting for them—he had a feeling that they had caught up to it once more.

"Don't look," Donna told Ganbri when they stepped into the kitchen, but the boy looked anyway.

Even if he hadn't, the smell of blood was rich enough in the air to recognize, especially for the advanced senses of a Time Lord. Under it, Jack could also smell the putrid stink left over from when the poor creature was gutted. Ganbri's eyes were wide and round, but he said nothing. He simply stared at the remains of the body on the counter tops and kept walking.

They heard the creatures hissing and snarling, restlessly moving about in their cage. When Jack laid eyes on them, he saw that half of them cowered while the other half bristled with anticipation. The soft fur of the females and children stood high on end, making them look as large as possible, while the males that were old enough to have shed their adolescent coats pulled their lips back to expose their enlarged fangs.

It had seemed immediately obvious that they were meant to free the Alreesh from their cruel prisons and Jack had not even thought he would hesitate but, looking at them now, he wasn't so sure. The scraps of meat and blood between fingernails and teeth told him that they were likely hungry and the way they were presenting themselves was less than friendly. What if they opened the gate and were immediately attacked by the entire pack?

"Donna, you have to talk to them," he whispered as quietly as possible as they approached the hissing cage.

"Why me?" she asked, seemingly horrified.

"Alreesh have a matriarchal social structure. They'll be offended if I speak to them first because I'm male."

"By the looks of it, I think these ones are a bit more primitive."

But there was no more time to argue. They were too close to the cage to say anything more without the Alreesh hearing them. Every pair of shining eyes on the other side of those bars were watching Donna intently and paying no mind at all to the two males in her company.

Donna was right though—these Alreesh were more primitive than the ones he was used to. In the time that Jack was born in, the Alreesh people could be found on just about every space station and planet he'd ever been to and he was quite familiar with their culture. This was a time long before that though and it was entirely possible that that culture had not yet developed. All he could hope for was that they hadn't gone too far back in time.

"My name is Donna," she began somewhat weakly, lacking confidence in her voice.

"Who is Donna?" one of the females responded suspiciously. Some of the meeker Alreesh were staring wide-eyed and frightened, perhaps amazed to see another creature that could speak their language.

"She is our Mother," Jack dared to speak, giving Ganbri a gentle nudge with his elbow.

"She is our Mother," the boy parroted without hesitation.

The strongest female led the pack, but the best and most honoured leaders were titled Mothers. The only requirement outside the demands of character and ability were that a Mother had to be an actual _mother_. By their standards, Donna qualified.

The Alreesh female continued to stare at them, looking both unimpressed and confused. It was then that Jack realized she was waiting for Donna to be properly introduced. The use of a first name only was considered very casual for the Alreesh, who almost always called each other by at least two names.

It took him a moment to remember the format. Every Alreesh had their own, individual names that were followed by the names of both parents rather than by a family name. If he remembered correctly, females gave their mother's name first while males gave their father's.

"She is Donna-Sylvia Geoffrey," he added carefully, watching them for a reaction. "Mother of Annabelle-Donna Shaun and all who walk in her protection."

God, he hoped he'd done that right.

"Your Son is talkative," the Alreesh answered, glaring at him with disapproval.

"He is what I want him to be," Donna answered haughtily, catching on quick. "Your Sons are quiet."

She looked at them with eyes that seemed to pierce right through. "I have no Sons," she whispered quietly, angrily. "We are Motherless now."

Donna glanced toward Jack with uncertainty and he took it as a sign to speak for her again. "Donna-Sylvia will take you into her protection, if you will come with us."

The female eyed him angrily again, seemingly offended by his abrupt speech, then turned to address Donna. "We belong with our own kind."

"Maybe," Donna agreed. "But you definitely don't belong in a cage."

The two looked into each other's eyes for a moment. The female Alreesh pulled back her lips to show off her fangs for a brief second but then paused. She glanced behind her, at the group of thin and ragged kinsmen, and looked at their hopeful eyes.

"I am Guin-Po Deda'i," she said, standing straight and tall but no longer looking Donna directly in the eye. "Please accept me as Daughter, with my Brothers and Sisters, until we are able to return to our people."

Donna stepped back from the bars. "Jack, open the door."

And, just like that, it was done.

The Alreesh did not hesitate to flood out from their enclosure. Several of them immediately vanished down the hallway and could be heard ravaging the kitchens while some simply scurried into the shadows to await instructions. Others emerged from behind the bars cradling wounds, and their smooth-skinned Brothers dashed about to find whatever they could to tend to them. But each one, without fail, paused for a brief moment to lift their chins and expose their throats to their new Mother. Donna was clever enough to know that she was not supposed to return the gesture.

Ganbri's hand tightened its grip on Jack's, and he looked down to see the boy's eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder. "I've had dreams," he whispered so quietly that it seemed he almost didn't want to be heard. "I didn't think they were real."

Ganbri had been a baby the last time he had seen an Alreesh. Jack Nista had looked upon him as an infant with fascinated eyes and bled to defend him. He hadn't thought before about whether or not a Time Lord could remember events from their infancy, but now he did wonder.

"Guin-Po," Donna said quietly, glancing around at the crowd. "We were looking for someone. Do you know anyone called Nista?"

The look on the Alreesh woman's face immediately saddened. "Had you come an hour ago, you could have met her."

Donna's eyes widened in horror and Jack didn't need to follow their path to know she was looking at the blood staining the hands and mouths of those around her. "She was—?"

"Nista-Po Deda'i was our Mother—my blood sister. Now she's gone."

"I'm so sorry," Donna said helplessly.

"Now is not the time for mourning," Guin answered, with a sharp edge to her voice. "We knew this day was coming. Nista was our Mother because the gods chose her. It was said that one day she would feed us and give us her strength, and on that day strangers would take us back to our people, and the light of Mu'atin would lead us to freedom. Today, Nista has fed us and here you are. Today we will be free."

"Free!" several Alreesh suddenly roared.

Others took up the call, while a few more shouted praise to either the gods or their Mother. For a moment, Jack was worried that the Doctor's oblivious decision earlier to feast on roasted Alhr may have altered the flow of time. Could it just be coincidence that the dead Alreesh woman's name happened to be Nista?

"It's that one," said Ganbri.

The boy's voice had been so quiet that Jack almost didn't hear him, had it not been for the way Ganbri tugged on his hand. He pointed into the crowd of Alreesh, to a group waiting anxiously in the shadows. There were three children huddled around their feet, still ripping at some stringy pieces of bloody meat.

"How do you know?" Jack asked.

"I'm not sure," Ganbri answered, sounding genuinely confused by his own words. "I can see him . . . through time. We know him, or . . . we will. I don't know."

"He's only a boy," Guin said, frowning at them both. "But yes, he carries my sister's name."

"He's her son?" Donna asked, looking over at the group of children and already looking like she might tear up.

"Her blood son," Guin corrected. "Though I don't know what you could possibly want with a child."

"The gods told you that we would find you," Jack said quickly. "They told us we would find _him_."

Guin-Po eyed him curiously but seemed to find his words acceptable. "Da'in!" she barked suddenly. "Come introduce yourself to your new Mother."

Jack held his breath and wasn't really sure how to let go. He knew that if he looked at Donna that her eyes would be filled with tears. She was too soft hearted to see people in this state without wanting to cry for them, let alone children. To think of the young man that had fought so hard and nearly died to protect them had grown up in a world like this would be too much for her. Part of Jack hoped that they were wrong and that this was all a twisted coincidence.

A tiny Alreesh child approached them cautiously, no older than six, still covered in soft fur, with teeth that were only just long enough to peek out from his lips. There was blood on his hands, in his fur, on his mouth. The black hair that they knew to tumble down in curly locks was nothing but short dark tufts, but he still had those black freckles on his cheeks and his eyes still shone as bright and golden as they had when they met him.

_We killed his mother_, Jack realized with a sick rolling in his stomach. _This kid is going to save us all one day and it began with us killing his mother._ It was then that he remembered that he, too, had eaten a piece of the roasted meat Quqarid had presented to them earlier.

"I am Da'in-Nuek Nista," the boy said in a clear voice, clutching a scrap of his mother's ragged skin in his hands and raising his chin to expose his throat in submission. "Thank you for accepting me as Son."


End file.
